And theirs were the times and the triumphs of yore,
And mine to regret, but renew them no more.

And ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,
Too hoary to fade and too massy to fall;

It tells not of time's or the tempest's decay,

But the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

J. MILTON.

LEST pair of syrens, pledges of heaven's joy,
Sphere-born, harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power em-
ploy,

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce;
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-color'd throne
To Him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright seraphim, in burning row,
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportioned sin

Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
Oh, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with heaven, till God, ere long,
To his celestial concert us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

THE SONG OF STEAM.

The following fine poem, by George W. Cutter, of Covington, Ky., Blackwood pronounced "the best lyric of the century:"

ARNESS me down with your iron bands;

Be sure of your curb and rein:

For I scorn the power of your puny hands,
As a tempest scorns a chain!

How I laugh'd as I lay conceal'd from sight
For many a countless hour,

At the childish boast of human might,
And the pride of human power!

When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,

Or waiting a wayward breeze;
When I marked the peasant fairly ree
With the toil which he faintly bore,
As he feebly turned the tardy wheel,
Or toiled at the weary oar:

When I measured the panting courser's speed,

The flight of the courier-dove,

As they bore the law a king decreed,

Or the lines of impatient love

I could not but think how the world would feel,

As these were outstripp'd afar,

When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chain'd to the flying car!

Ha, ha, ha! they found me at last;

They invited me forth at length,

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder blast,
And laugh'd in my iron strength!
Oh! then ye saw a wondrous change
On the earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range,

Nor wait for wind or tide.

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er,
The mountain's steep decline;
Time-space-have yielded to my power;
The world-the world is mine!
The rivers the sun hath earliest blessed,
Or those where his beams decline;
The giant streams of the queenly West,
Or the Orient floods divine.

The ocean pales where'er I sweep,
To hear my strength rejoice,
And the monsters of the briny deep
Cower, trembling at my voice.

I

carry

the wealth and ore of earth,

The thought of his god like mind, The wind lags after my flying forth,

The lightning is left behind.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine

My tireless arm doth play,

Where the rocks never saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of a glorious day;

I bring earth's glittering jewels up,
From hidden cave below,

And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.